


The Last Thing You Said to Me

by Darksidekelz



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Pre-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 05:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7030633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darksidekelz/pseuds/Darksidekelz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumbler wants to stay.  Prowl wants to go.  Both want each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Thing You Said to Me

Tumbler couldn't sleep.  He'd tried of course.  Much of the night had been spent tossing and turning in an effort to get comfortable, to ward off the thoughts that crept in the moment he offlined his optics – would he still be alive in the morning?  Would the world still exist?  What sort of cruel new future would await him when he awoke?

Everything he thought he'd known about his life had been proven a lie.  In the last twenty cycles the Functionists had been caught in a conspiracy to bomb the Primal Basilica, pin the attack on the Decepticons, and Shadowplay those foolish enough to register for the despicable Decepticon Registration Act as punishment.  With the help of Orion Pax, they'd managed to put a stop to the terrible scheme, and though nearly all involved had escaped with their lives (though Senator Shockwave's whereabouts were still a mystery), Tumbler's faith in the system had been shaken to the core.  Everyone, from his superior Flatfoot on up, had been in on the scheme.  If he couldn't trust his own boss, who could he trust?

But though Tumbler was stressed and skittish, he was still taking the affair better than Prowl.  Prowl, who had been so by-the-books, who had worshipped the chain of command, and afforded authority the highest respect, had abandoned them in the middle of the mission, to protect his faith in the system, and had ultimately been proven wrong – he'd quit mechaforensics the next day, and had been quite the wreck ever since.  He mostly kept himself sequestered away in his office, hidden behind a thick, steel door that Tumbler had long ago learned not to open.  Prowl so-hated to be interrupted while thinking.  But on occasion, when Tumbler _did_ cross his path, his partner seemed aloof, listless, and able to do little more than stare at the wall in a mindless haze.  It was deeply unnerving.

Pit, between his own stress and Tumbler's constant tossing and turning in the berth, it was a miracle he had yet to wake up yet.  Mech could sleep through anything.

Sighing deeply, Tumbler sat up, and scooted off their shared berth.  This wasn't working.  He was going to grab some energon and sneak off to his own office, in hopes of doing something productive, since sleep wasn't going to happen.  He paused at the door, to cast one worried glance at his sleeping lover before stepping out into the hallway.

He didn't turn on any lights in their shared apartment.  Prowl could sleep through a restless Tumbler, but turn on the lights, and he'd be up in a snap, grouching and grumbling about etiquette and the electric bill.  Tumbler would never tell him how very cute he found that particular behavior.

But he didn't need light to see.  He knew these halls like the back of his hand, had walked them every day for the past few decades.  He knew where the dent in the wall was, from when he'd gotten a bit too overcharged, and lived up to his name, tumbling helm first into the unforgiving surface.  Prowl still brought that one up from time to time.  Of course, Prowl had left his mark on the  hallway too.  Framed copies of the preamble to the Functionist Accord ('everything in its place') lined the hall in a precisely-measured line.  He wondered how long those would remain in place.

But there was more.  Every inch of that hallway held a precious memory.  Here, was the doorway where they had shared their first, awkward kiss, there, Prowl had held him close as Tumbler wept over news of the death of his old partner, and over there, their very first lover's spat.  Tumbler couldn't even remember what about.

He emerged from the short hall into the living quarters, crept over to the energon storage cabinet, poured himself a cube of low grade, and returned to melt into the single chair in the room – _his_ chair.  For a long moment, he stared off into space, no thoughts, no frets – just him and his energon and the drafty room. 

But tranquility was short-lived.  Something had caught his eye – a pair of cards sitting discarded on the table.  They hadn't been there when he'd gone to work that morning.  Curious, and looking for anything to take his mind away from thoughts of the horrid truths of the world he lived in, at least for a few seconds more, he got up to investigate.

The cards in question were small, unmarked slabs of circuitry, meant to be uploaded to a comm reader.  And as there were two, Tumbler could only assume that one was meant for him.  He could have plugged it in and read the data within, or he could have asked Prowl, but Tumbler didn't work in mechaforensics, partnered to the most meticulous mech on all of Cybertron without picking up a few things.

He felt safe in assuming that the cards had been purchased by Prowl.  He couldn't think of anyone who would be sending them a gift right now, and with the extra freedom of unemployment, Prowl would have had plenty of time to procure them without Tumbler's notice.  The question then, was what exactly Prowl was buying.  He wasn't a particularly worldly mech, didn't care for frivolities and useless knick knacks.  Whatever this was had a practical purpose, and one that he wanted to share with his lover.  Given his listless, fearful nature of late, it wasn't hard to imagine what that purpose was.

Uploading one of the slabs to his commlink confirmed his suspicion.

They were tickets – one way, to the planet of Belegaer.  Prowl must have spent half his savings on them.  Which was a damn shame, for Tumbler had no intention of leaving.  He was needed here!  Their world was on the brink of war, and Tumbler wanted to stay behind, to lend a hand where he could, protecting the good and the weak from the Functionists and Decepticons alike.  Prowl knew this, and yet he'd had the gall to assume Tumbler would drop everything and flee.

He dropped his commlink, as though bitten; it clattered uselessly across the floor.  Prowl's behavior shouldn't have shocked him so; he'd always been a difficult mech, but they'd been together for a long time now.  Tumbler had thought that Prowl would have learned to respect him a little more than this by now. 

And he could understand Prowl's desire to flee – for one who worshipped law and order as much as Prowl, the chaos of war would be devastating.  He couldn't imagine Prowl pulling through such a catastrophe with his mind intact.  But the fact that he had gone behind Tumbler's back – bought tickets for the both of them without so much as consulting Tumbler beforehand stung more than he'd like to admit. 

Prowl claimed to love him, and yet here he was, making life-altering decisions for the both of them on his own, as if Tumbler was too stupid to do so himself.  And knowing Prowl, that was almost certainly what he thought.  Sorrow and anger flooded through him, biting at his spark with the sharp sting of betrayal, and Tumbler, overcome with emotion,  sank back into the chair, and slumped forward, his vents flaring in an effort to calm himself.

He heard a movement behind him.

"Tumbler?  Are you all right?  What are you doing out here?" Prowl said, far more alert than Tumbler expected him to be so late in the night cycle.

Tumbler didn't have the bearings to face Prowl right now, the idea of looking at the mech who had once brought him such joy, only filled him with rage now.  He held the ticket up over his shoulder, weakly, and Prowl, in response gave a grunt of acknowledgment.

"Oh that."

"Oh that?" Tumbler hissed, whirling around in his chair.  "When were you planning on telling me about this, Prowl?  At the space port?"

Prowl's optics widened – he took a half step back, surprised by Tumbler's fiery reaction.  "There's no need to overreact, Tumbler.  I did what I felt was the best decision, but I can see clearly that you do not agree with me.  We can talk this out; there's no need for raised voices."

"How can you do that?!"  Tumbler was in no mood for rational discussion.  He rose from the chair, toppling it to the ground in his haste to get up, and causing Prowl to flinch in the process.  Good.

"I apologize.  I really didn't think this would upset you so."  To his credit, Prowl did look genuinely remorseful.

"That's not what I meant!" Tumbler snapped.

Prowl quirked an optic ridge.  "What did you mean, then?"

Staring upon Prowl's calm presence only served to sour Tumbler's mood further, but he was all too aware that he was the only one yelling, and as much as he hated to admit it, Prowl was right.  There was no need for such a dramatic reaction, even if, as far as Tumbler was concerned, it was perfectly justifiable.  His shoulders slumped in a sigh, and he rubbed at his cranial plating.

"I mean – I guess I meant that too.  But you – you're so calm right now, like you're some unflappable saint; you can't even seem to comprehend why I would be upset!"

Prowl gave an impatient growl.  Even a saint had limits.  "Clearly you do not want to leave.  I'm not stupid."

"No!" Tumbler snapped again, then thought better of it, calming himself before he added, "Okay, well yes.  I don't want to leave.  I told you that already.  You _know_ how I feel about the Matrix incident and –"

Prowl's door wings gave a soft shudder at the mere mention of the incident in question.  Somehow, that tiny motion of weakness was enough to sap Tumbler's fury.  He let loose a resigned sigh, and finished.  "And you went out and bought those tickets without so much as consulting me, like my opinion on the subject didn't matter one bit.  It's all about what _Prowl_ wants.  It always is."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," said Prowl in his typical Prowl fashion.  If Tumbler had been capable of vocalizing the sound that best summed up his feelings at the moment, he would have, but 'pfft' was a bit out of his reach.

"But not sorry for doing it," he growled, brushing past Prowl, and enjoying the way those sharp optics locked on to the toppled chair like a sniper's, his frown deepening.  He so clearly wanted to say something about it, but even _he_ could grasp that this was not the time.

"What do you want me to say, Tumbler?  I'm not going to lie."

Tumbler had had quite enough of being in this room, putting up with Prowl's stupid face.  He sauntered off down the hall, back towards their room, disappointed to find Prowl following in his shadow.  "No, of course not," he sighed.  "You're too good to do such a thing."

A frustrated growl escaped Prowl's vocaliser.  "Will you stop attacking me for a minute and try to see things my way?"

"What's there to see?" Tumbler said, pausing in the doorway of their quarters, glancing at Prowl over his shoulder.  "You said it yourself – if war breaks out, you're taking off.  You don't want to deal with it.  I get that.  And I get that what happened with Orion Pax and the fake Matrix, and Senator Shockwave really upset you.  So you decided now's the time to get the hell outta dodge – and you just assumed that I would be down for that!  You didn't ask me, maybe because you knew I'd disagree, and Prowl knows best, of course.  Anyone who disagrees with you is wrong!  _I'm_ wrong!  I'm just some reckless idiot who doesn't know any better, looking to rush off to his death!  Tell me that's all you see me as!" 

Prowl withdrew, door wings slumping, in fear or shame, Tumbler didn't know.  His optics, emotional and bright, fell to the floor, trying to obscure the honesty of his emotions.  Tumbler had never seen him like this before, so broken and lost.  It was enough to quell some of his own anger.  He released his death grip on the doorframe, inwardly wincing at the wicked dent he'd left in the weak metal, and stepped closer, slowly, calmly.

"Prowl?"

"I didn't want you to leave me," he muttered, barely above a whisper.

"Prowl . . ." Tumbler repeated.  He couldn't stay angry anymore, not when Prowl was making that pathetic, needy face.  He reached out, grasping a slumped shoulder, squeezing in half-hearted comfort.  Prowl shook it off.

"Look, I don't exactly get along well with other mechs.  I'm fully aware of this, and I accept it.  I am perfectly satisfied with who I am, and I will not alter myself to appease anyone – it would go against everything I was raised to believe . . ."  He paused, stood up straighter, forced himself to be strong.  "And I know what everyone calls you.  'Unlucky.'  Because you have the misfortune of being my partner. 

"And I admit, I was fully expecting you to embrace the title, to fight me at every turn.  But you never did.  You're different than the others, you're _better_ than the others.  And I just – I can't – the idea of losing you is unacceptable to me."

"Then stay," Tumbler said, his own voice a whisper.  Truth be told, as frustrating as Prowl could be to work with, he wouldn't have traded him for anything.  Tumbler loved Prowl as much as Prowl loved Tumbler, even if neither would admit it, and the thought of him up and leaving hurt nearly as much as the idea of leaving himself. 

"I –" Prowl trailed off, a moment of hunted terror in his optics.  Tumbler wondered what he saw, what kind of horrific future was unfurling in Prowl's methodical mind.  Tumbler didn't want to give him a chance to picture it. 

In one swift motion, he pulled Prowl into his arms, holding him close, uncomfortably so, as if he could keep Prowl from leaving if he just held on tight enough.  "I know you don't like chaos, I get it, I do.  But you're brilliant, Prowl.  Think of all the people you could help if you just stay here – we could end this war – it won't last forever, it can't!  But _we_ can.  Please, forget about running away.  You're not a coward Prowl, I know you.  We can sell those tickets to somebody else.  Please, just stay with me."

Prowl's arms hung limply at his side at first, as though unsure of what to do with them, but finally, after a short eternity, he reciprocated the gesture, wrapping them around Tumbler's waist, and allowing his head to collapse against Tumbler's shoulder.  "I don't want to lose you," he murmured – soft, broken, scared.  Tumbler had never imagined Prowl could be scared, not until this moment.

"You don't have to," he said, easing them back into their shared room, onto the recharge slab, side-by-side.

They lay like that for a long moment, bodies intertwined in a moment of quiet solidarity.  Then Prowl moved, nuzzling in closer, lips latching on to the cables of Tumbler's throat.

"Prowl?"

Prowl said nothing, but his deft hands traveled across Tumbler's back, exploring ever seam, every dent, every wire, as though this was his last chance.  As foreboding as that felt, Tumbler couldn't help but echo the sentiment.

"All right then, let's do this."  His own hands found the back of Prowl's head, fingertips creeping upwards, stroking the sharp edges of his chevron.  His movement options were slim until Prowl found something else to do with his mouth (not that Tumbler minded) but he worked with what he had.  He took his free hand and moved it downward to ghost across the flat edges of Prowl's door wings in the way he knew Prowl liked.  They fluttered beneath his touch.

Prowl moaned against his throat, at last relinquishing his hold.  "You can be more rough with them."

Tumbler paused.  He'd never heard such a request from Prowl before; it was the slightest bit unnerving.  "Huh?"

A rough hand found his own, and squeezed, until he feared the light metal of those delicate-looking wings would dent beneath his grasp.  But they held strong.  "Like this.  I want it to hurt."

And that was even stranger.  Tumbler didn't know whether this was Prowl talking, or some strange sense of fear, or guilt, or whatever, but he didn't know how to protest – not when Prowl's optics were filled with such genuine need, not when his voice sounded near breaking.  He kept at the wings in Prowl's suggested manner, grabbing and squeezing and jerking, even as his own guilt gnawed at him.  Prowl was infuriating, and a part of Tumbler still resented his earlier actions, but he didn't want to _hurt_ him, even if that was explicitly what Prowl wanted.

Prowl's hands, meanwhile, had moved on to other things – down Tumbler's back, one dipping between his thighs.  Tumbler shuddered.  "How come you never told me you liked this?"

Prowl answered with a non-committal grunt, his fingers prying more insistently at Tumbler's panel.  "Open for me," he urged, practically buzzing in anticipation.  Who was Tumbler to deny him?

His interface cover slid open with a wet hiss, baring his valve, which Prowl's eager fingers hastened to explore.  Tumbler let out a shaky moan at the movement.  But then, instead of moving in deeper, they pulled out, traveling to his spike cover.  Prowl had never shown interest in his spike before.  It was one more cause for discomfort.  Something wasn't right here.

"Prowl?"

"Open for me," he said again, sounding like a bot starved of energon.  With such desperation in his voice, Tumbler couldn't refuse.  One more hiss sent his thin spike deploying right into Prowl's waiting hands.

"What's gotten into you tonight?"

It took Prowl a moment to answer, as he appeared entranced by Tumbler's rarely-seen appendage.  He stroked along its length – softly, delicately, as though it were the most precious thing in the world.  Tumbler couldn't stave off a full-body shudder at the light, nearly tickling touches.

"Prowl?"

"I want this," he said, "I want you.  All of you.  In every way imaginable.  I've had your valve, but never your spike before."  He crawled off the berth and sank down to his knees, forcing himself between Tumbler's thighs, and then, without further warning, he wrapped his lips around Tumbler's spike, taking him in whole, as deep as he could, into the back of his throat, enough to make him sputter and gag, before withdrawing and going for it again.

"Prowl?"  Tumbler groaned.  The feelings weren't bad, and his spike was so under-utilized as to be ultra-sensitive, but he didn't like the idea of Prowl hurting himself for his sake.

Prowl pulled off just long enough to repeat himself.  "I _want_ this."  There was fire in his optics, and a certainty in his tone that left no room for protestation.

"If you're sure then," said Tumbler, and that was all the permission Prowl needed before he devoured the spike once more, one hand bracing himself on Tumbler's waist, the other between Tumbler's legs, fingers dipping into his valve.  Such was his vigor, that Tumbler found himself clutching at the berth, to keep himself from being dragged off.

Tumbler wasn't content to merely throw his head back and bask in the ecstasy.  For whatever twisted reason, Prowl seemed keen on self-flagellation tonight, but Tumbler wanted him to feel pleasure as well. 

Door wings fluttered softly, enticing and just within reach.  Tumbler reached out with a free hand and grabbed on, fingers digging roughly into the metal, as Prowl had told him before.  Prowl's contented moaning vibrated around his spike.  Primus, that felt so good.

Prowl kept up a brutal pace that would have had Tumbler overloading within a few seconds more, but suddenly, without warning, he pulled off, a line of oral solvent dribbling down his chin.  Beautiful.

"Prowl?" Tumbler asked, feeling a bit light-headed.  Prowl had done an admirable job of sapping his capacity for speech.

Prowl too, seemed a bit overwhelmed.  Instead of providing a direct answer, he rolled back, and spread his legs, baring his open valve for Tumbler, beckoning him to the floor.  The desperate look in his optics said all that needed to be said.  Prowl wanted Tumbler to fuck him.

And that's when the performance anxiety kicked in.  Tumbler had never spiked another mech before, let alone Prowl, and though he'd once thought he knew exactly what Prowl enjoyed in interface, the events of the last few kliks had turned _that_ on its head.  Tumbler had no idea what was expected of him.

Prowl sensed his hesitation, and sat up, wearing a disappointed frown.  "Come here," he said, and then, when Tumbler dumbly failed to move, drew closer, grabbing his forearms, and dragging him backwards with him, until Tumbler, was well on the floor, and by technicality, had Prowl's back pressed against the wall, their bodies tightly entwined together.  Prowl's lips soon found the vents that lined Tumbler's helm, suckling softly at each slat, trickling words between the motions of his lips.

"I want you to be rough with me.  I want you to hurt me.  I need this.  Please.  I know it sounds weird.  But do this for me?  Tumbler?  I know you can."  The last, he punctuated with a deep, hungry bite at the finial his mouth had been worshipping, as though he could devour all that Tumbler was, keep him by his side for all time, if only he tried hard enough.  This was starting to get a little scary.

"Prowl, this isn't going to change anything," he said, pulling away from those insatiable teeth, but still close enough to see every twitching gear as Prowl's face melted into his usual scowl.

"That's not what I'm trying to do here.  Do you really think so little of me?"

"I –"

In one rough motion, Prowl shifted their positions, dragging Tumbler closer, until their interface panels were aligned.  "Can't I just have you?  Do we have to bring everything else into this?"

Tumbler wasn't entirely convinced by Prowl's words, but the feel of his body parting beneath him, begging his spike to enter made a strong argument.  He loved Prowl, he wanted Prowl, and though Prowl was acting strange, he couldn't shake the thought that maybe this was all some kind of elaborate test, or one of those mind games that the mech was so famous for.  Maybe, if he could please Prowl right here, Prowl would find reason enough to stay, to set aside his reservations, to choose Tumbler over all else.

He didn't have to move far – he was already perfectly situated.  All it took was a slow thrust of his hips forward to bury himself in Prowl's valve.

He'd never imagined it would feel so good.  Prowl was welcoming, warm and wet, his calipers constricting around Tumbler's thin spike, inviting him deeper and deeper, until he bottomed out.  He remained like that for a moment, adjusting to the sensation of being buried in the body of another bot, and allowing Prowl to do the same, but the respite didn't last long.  He began moving, admiring the way that Prowl's valve rippled around him, the give and take of its walls, the increasing intensity of its heat.

"More," Prowl whispered, throwing his arms around Tumbler's neck, and pressing his generous hood to Tumbler's significantly flatter chest.  And it was all Tumbler could do to obey, or at least attempt to.  He moved at a punishing pace for a few moments; the spark-melting smile on Prowl's face encouraged him to keep  trying, but his body simply couldn't keep up.  He tried latching on to Prowl's wings again, tugging roughly to compensate for his other failures.  If Prowl's soft moan was any indication, he didn't mind.

"More," he pleaded again.

"Prowl, I can't."

"Please, I need this.  Please."

Tumbler had never seen Prowl like this before.  He seemed so desperate, so weak, so unlike the Prowl that he knew and loved.  But even so, he could not refuse.  If Prowl wanted more, then Tumbler would give him more; he just needed to find a means of doing so.

He withdrew, the chilly air biting at his slick spike.  It was unpleasant to be separated from that warm body, but it wouldn't be for long.  Before Prowl had a chance to question him, Tumbler shoved him the remaining distance to the ground, turning him on his belly, aft in the air, and dove back in.  Already this position was easier to work with.  He didn't have much speed, but from this angle, he could get rougher, deeper thrusts.  Prowl's engine whined with each, the force shoving him across the floor.  His door wings made for a good grip, and Tumbler latched on once again, holding Prowl's body stationary as he continued to slam into him, until finally, he could hold out no longer.

He overloaded violently, back arching with enough force to drag Prowl off the ground with him, who twitched and sputtered in his grip.  The world was white, blinding, and his audials rang as the charge flooded through his body, shooting small sparks from his optics and chest.  And then, once his energy was completely spent, he collapsed forward, taking Prowl with him, groaning softly as he hit the floor, or rather, as he hit Prowl's back.  Prowl himself made no noise as his body clanged against the ground.

"Did you –" Tumbler asked once words returned to him, scarce as they were.  When Prowl failed to answer, Tumbler rolled off, placing himself on the ground beside his lover's face.  Prowl was gazing somewhere behind him, optics distant, tiny shudders wracking his frame.

"Prowl?"

The sound of his name was enough to bring Prowl back to reality. 

"Hmm?  Did I what?"

"Are you – you know?" Tumbler waved a vague hand, strangely embarrassed to ask if Prowl had overloaded.  It was a simple question, and yet . . .

"Hmm?  Oh yeah.   Yeah."  His voice was still faraway, disconnected, in a way that Tumbler didn't like.  He rose to his feet, offering Prowl a hand, and helping the dizzy mech up.

"Here, come here," he said, leading him to their shared berth, taking a seat on the edge, and pulling Prowl into his lap, holding him close.  "Are you alright?  Can I get you anything?"

Prowl remained silent for a long moment, helm buried under Tumbler's chin, his chevron sticking out the safely to the side.  It was difficult to tell whether he was still disconnected, or if he was simply lost in thought, as Prowl was wont to do.  He'd stopped trembling at least, so Tumbler took it as a good sign.

"Yes," he said at last, his face still obscured from view.  "Yes, I think I'm fine.  That was . . . not having control, even to such a small extent – it was . . . an exhilarating experience.  It felt . . . nice."  He shifted to rest his head on Tumbler's shoulder, taking care not to catch his sharp chevron on Tumbler's face.  And then, he said something that caught Tumbler completely by surprise, three words he had never expected to hear come out of that serious mouth. 

"I love you," punctuated by a soft kiss to the side of his mouth plate.

Surely he was glitched in the head!  Prowl didn't say such sentimental things!  He was cold and stoic and judgmental and arrogant and even a little adorable, but this?  Tumbler scooted further back onto the berth and toppled over, dragging Prowl with him and holding him close. 

"I think I might've broken you back there worse than I thought.  Here, you better get some rest."  His tone was playful, but the words weren't a lie.  Notably, it didn't occur to him to echo Prowl's phrase. 

There was no good reason for it.  He _did_ love Prowl, or at least he thought he did.  Prowl made him happy, at least when he wasn't being a colossal pain in the aft, and he wanted Prowl's happiness too.  He loved lying by his side, Prowl's helm pillowed against his chest.  He loved the warmth of Prowl's body pressed against him, he loved the singing in his field whenever they coincided, he loved the soft vibrations of his engine and the warm presence of his spark.  He loved watching Prowl drift off to sleep, the fact that a mech so guarded, so addicted to control, would allow Tumbler to see him in such a helpless state.  He loved everything about Prowl.  But to say such things?  It was terrifying.

And so he said nothing for a long while, instead choosing to bask in the presence of the sleeping mech at his side, feeling closer than he ever had.  And then, once sure Prowl was too far-gone to hear, he gave his reply.

"I love you too."

~~~

Prowl was gone the next morning, his most valued of possessions cleared out, as though his existence had been a lie that Tumbler had dreamed up in his loneliness.  On the table, right where it had been left, was a single ticket for a ship off the planet, a ship that had left hours ago.  It was over.  Prowl was gone.

He didn't have the presence of mind to cry, to scream or beg or punch the wall in his rage.  Prowl had been his life for so long.  And now he wasn't.  And Tumbler was completely lost.

Who was going to wake up by his side each morning?  Who would he share his energon with?  Who would chastise him for goofing off on the clock?  Who would meticulously arrange the portraits on the walls, and spout absurd statistics and offer him a rare smile and a word of praise, made all the more special by how out of character they were?  He'd known this would happen sooner or later, but he could not even begin to fathom how he was going to live from now on.  Prowl had held such a significant portion of his life; how would he fill the void left in his place?

He wouldn't.  He _couldn't_.  Tumbler had loved Prowl, but now Prowl was gone, and nobody was coming to replace him.  His vents hitched, holding off an encroaching sob.  There would be no one to comfort him now.   Instead, he snatched up the ticket, and stumbled in an empty haze back to the room they shared – _had_ shared, collapsing against a wall and sliding to the floor.  It was the same that he had driven Prowl into last night; he could still smell Prowl, could hear his needy whines – more things he'd never have again, except in memory.

He crushed the ticket in his hands, hurling it at the opposite wall, cursing Prowl's name, cursing his arrogance, his cowardice, all that he was.

He wanted to forget, all of the good times, the shy smile of a mech who didn't seem entirely sure how to, the flutter of door wings, that silky voice, and unparalleled wit, the feel of those teeth at his throat, the desperate need that had flooded Prowl last night, as though he'd known that they would never see one another again . . . Of _course_ he'd known.

_'I love you.'_

Tumbler wanted to forget.  He wished that he _could_.  It would be easier, to erase the pain and live on not knowing.  To go hunt down one of those shady mnemosurgeons and have them turn half a century of heartfelt devotion into nothing more than a bad dream.  But that was not the world he lived in.  No one was going to save him.

Yes.  Tumbler wanted to forget, but he knew, deep down, that he never would.  And that was the worst part of all.


End file.
